Page 56 of Till The Cows Come Home
I cleared my throat, unable to speak. Stu had mentioned calling around, but I didn’t expect someone to be able to take them all, and especially not this soon.
“Thank you,” I mustered, clearing the lump from my throat, “But I have sixty-two cows that need placing.”
“I can be on my way to load them within the next hour if that works for you?”
“All of them?”
“Kid, I’d make room for a thousand. Farmers help farmers.”
“I can’t thank you enough, sir.”
“No thanks needed, Miles.”
“I have the vet coming to look over everyone, is it okay with you if I reroute her your way?”
“Sounds perfect, I’ll let my wife know to look out for her, and I’ll see you in a bit.”
“See you in a bit,” I echoed, and as I hung up, the weight of a singular brick was lifted from the pile I was buried under.
I spent the rest of the morning making calls and readying the girls, and about two hours later the semi truck I’d been eagerly awaiting pulled in. Mr. Chambers hopped out, and after one look around, he cleared the distance between us, pulling my outstretched hand into a quick embrace. From that moment I knew he was a genuinely good person, willing to give the shirt off his back, or in my case, even more. He intended to house, feed, and care for animals he didn’t even know, and I tried not to think about the debt I may never be able to repay.
It took awhile to load everyone, most of the herd still shaken up, but he didn’t seem to care. His voice was soothing and calm until the moment we coaxed the last girl into the trailer.
“Ready?” he asked as he bolted the back of the truck.
“I don’t know if anyone is ever ready for something like this, but I think I’m as close as I’ll ever be.”
“That’s good enough for me,” he said, returning to his seat behind the wheel.
Both my hands gripped the steering wheel as I followed behind him, my nerves evident through the whites peeking through on each of my knuckles. Every rein I’d previously held was slipping away, my control along with it, and as I watched another person drive away with the last thing I had a hold of, I felt a little bit more of myself begin to unravel.
When we got to Chambers’ farm, the vet was waiting, and each cow was checked as they were unloaded. Many of them needed ointment for burns, others received wraps for larger wounds, but I already knew I was in for a long road to recovery. It didn’t bother me, though. I’d drive here twice a day to maintain whatever care was needed.
When the trailer was empty, John toured me around the facility, showing me the area the girls would be housed in, and as we circled back to where my truck was parked, having seen just about the entire property, I couldn’t help but linger.
“Something else you want to see?”
“No, sorry,” I mumbled, “I’ll get going.”
“Stay as long as you need, but they’re going to be okay, son,” he said, patting me on the back. “Are you?”
“I’ll be alright,” I responded, knowing the thread holding my composure was too thin to dive into my thoughts and feelings with a stranger.
“I’m sure you will be, but I just need you to promise me you’ll try to recognize if you’re not. Far too often in this field we try to be brave, but something horrible happened to you, Miles. Face it, feel it, then move forward. You’ll have nothing but problems if you try to do it the other way around.”
“Thank you,” was all I could get out and as he looked into my eyes, I clenched my teeth, begging my emotions to stay inside until I was alone.
“My pleasure. Now go get some rest.”
I tipped my head to him before walking to my truck and as I pulled away, I clung to his words before finally allowing the tears to fall. As I watched the farm shrink in my rearview mirror, the flood of sorrow and anger I’d been holding back consumed me so fiercely that I eventually had to pull off on the side of the road, my vision too obstructed to continue forward. The weight of the evening crashed onto my shoulders.
The farm is gone. Thirty-four of my cows are gone. Sage is gone.
After a few minutes, a duller pain replaced the debilitating pressure previously inhabiting my chest, and as I pulled back onto the road, I felt the tiniest sliver of relief, a few more bricks unloaded. Maybe the old man was right. The fog in my mind slowly cleared, allowing me to ruminate over the logistics. I vaguely remembered insuring the farm when I first bought it and tried to recall the details of the coverage as I pulled back onto the road. It was unlikely the policy paperwork wasanywhere I’d be able to locate, and the offices didn’t open until tomorrow.
The longer I thought, the more I began to second guess myself. A part of me was terrified they’d argue I was negligent and refuse my claim for even bringing candles into the barn and as I pulled into my driveway, stunned by the scene I’d now seen over and over, I began to believe that maybe they’d be right to.
Dread coursed through me as I sat in my truck, preventing me from opening the door my hand had instinctively found when I parked. I could tell that a lot of the smoke had dissipated, but the smell was something I knew would haunt me in my dreams. A mix of charred timber and burnt flesh had ingrained itself inside my nostrils, I was in no rush to have it back.
